As Advertised: One Archangel
by MiaGhost
Summary: (Inspired by a youtube video.) Set just after the fated Archangel battle we all hate. Sam is grieving, unable to shoulder this loss like the many, many others. When Dean bursts in the motel room one night, obsessed with the TV, to be honest it's probably the least odd part of his life. Why won't Dean just leave him alone to sleep? Dean just hopes he's right.
1. Chapter 1

_(A/N): Hey Guys!  
So, welcome to the new story!  
It's an idea I'm having a lot of fun exploring considering most of my other SPN fics (unposted as of yet) are very AU/Reverse Verse' oriented.  
This is based in our known Supernatural Universe, but diverges from Canon a fair amount, naturally.  
It was inspired by a video I watched on youtube the other day while indulging my Richard Speight Jnr. obsession a little. (Or a lot. Sshh.)  
I would highly recommend you give it a watch, particularly if you're a Sabriel fan, because it's really freaking good.  
I watched it, added it to a playlist I've got on loop right now, and realised I honestly _have _to write this.  
It's probably inspired fics before mine, but I had to explore it just the same._

 _Welcome to the ride. I look forward to hearing your thoughts!_

 _Happy Reading!_

 _If you want the video (And I strongly suggest you should!):_ _TV Land: Gabriel's Plan B (Sabriel) by sakuri 69_

 _Find it here:_ _www . youtube watch?v=_Mmwt9mkc_I &list=PLjKtKydJTAsE836YPlblWgUrCc8UtODmS&index=14  
(You'll need to remove the spaces.)_

* * *

 _Chapter One_

He did okay hiding it from Dean.

He didn't need to hide that it upset him, because that much was natural. It had upset Dean too, losing someone on their side like that. But Dean was okay, shouldering the sting of grief like all the others. He didn't - _couldn't_ \- allow them to consume him. And usually Sam was right there with him. Remembering the good, trying to get over the bad. Moving past it to carry on.

But this time, Sam was struggling. And he couldn't see a way out of it this time. Not right now, and he was plagued by the pessimistic thought that he'd _maybe never_ see it.

But he was hiding it. And he was doing okay.

They'd gotten in the car, driven hours. Stopped off at some generically-named motel and crashed till the dawn before getting back in the car. This became routine again, each day following the one before in one long trail of cases and bourbon and crappy diner food. They didn't stop to do any in-depth conversation. They didn't sit and cry about it or allow the grief into the room with them. Because if they did that every time they would always be grieving.

But Sam was struggling. And he was starting to feel like this time he might never feel himself again. This time the grief might be for good.

And _that_ thought was even more frightening, because he'd put more friends in the ground than he'd care to count and he had always coped, somehow. Because they had to, because there were people out there needing saved. Because there were always more monsters.

But he was hiding it _well_ until they were in the car and Dean flicked on the radio to fill the pre-dawn air after another case.

Despite it being a simple Rugaroo problem they were both drained and road-weary, debating heading back to visit Bobby for a while if only for a decent bed and something that didn't come from a vending machine or a deep-fryer. Dean's request was the former and Sam's own the latter. And more to the point they needed Bobby, not that either would admit it. But Sam needed to feel family right then. He needed someone to lean on who wasn't Dean, someone who wouldn't guess the realest reasons why he was upset or ask too much about it past the initial concern.

Bobby always knew when to ask and when to allow him to deflect.

The fading chords of something old was filtering into the air of the car and Sam closed his eyes, hoping the radio would work its magic and help him grasp the edge of sleep. The window glass was cool and soothing on his forehead and his cheek. Dean was tired too but refused to give up the wheel with arguments that he was better rested than his little brother. And it wasn't as if he wasn't right.

The last note hung in the familiar safety of the Impala before the voice came on to introduce the next song, the sound quiet and lazy even if Sam wasn't listening to the words.

"Nice." Dean murmured as the announcer finished and the buzz of a new track clicked.

When the first chords rang out Sam shot upright in the same instant a roll of nausea made itself known in his gut.

"Pull over." he barked over Dean's exclamation, as the Impala swerved from his jerk, a punch of adrenaline only making it worse, "Pull over!"

 ** _I never meant to be so bad to you._**

Dean did so instantly, whether surprised by Sam's tone or from the shock of Sam sitting up, from the screech of tires as he'd spun the wheel. Sam threw the door open before the car had even fully stopped, stumbling blindly around the back towards the grassy edge.

 ** _One thing I said that I would never do._**

He didn't make it that far, emptying his stomach contents by the trunk, heaving for several long moments after, bile burning his throat and his muscles screamingly weakly. Somewhere far away he could hear his brother's voice, hear the door slam as Dean reached over to drag it closed before someone drove past them and took it off.

And all the while those words, that guitar thrumming out those chords that haunted Sam in nightmares and dreams alike. _That fucking song_.

 ** _A look from you and I would fall from grace._**

His eyes were stinging, every breath raw and ragged and laced with the complaining roll of his gut, the acrid taste.

He could see the motel room, feel the startling, jarring hurtle into consciousness to find himself there again, gasping and staring at that fucking radio. Dean brushing his teeth.

Sam retched again, trying not to let the wet splatter make him cringe because if he did he'd never stop. His skin was burning like his throat, clammy and sticky, sweat rolling down his arms in beads. His face felt tight and hot, salt slicked.

 ** _And that would wipe the smile right from my face._**

That smile. The infuriating, irritating, downright _obnoxious_ little twisting of lips, so expressive, so subtle. The way it widened to one side and quirked into warmer territory when Sam said something, did something, to earn approval.

How long ago had he begun to be like this?

How long ago had it begun to root itself deep inside what felt like his very soul?

 ** _Do you remember when we used to dance?_**

How long ago had he fallen so low?

Was it that very first dance of glances and smiles and false stories? The caretaker-turned-trickster?

It couldn't have been while he was killing Sam's brother over and over. It _couldn't_ have been. Why would he, when it was his brother being taken from him again and again and again? How was it possible that he'd gotten here then?

 ** _And incidence arose from circumstance?_**

How had it? How had this begun to happen to him without him seeing it, without getting a chance to fight against the fact that it was true?

Truly, how _had_ incidence arisen?

How had he gotten here, puking his guts up at the side of the road in an area he didn't remember the name of, leaving in their wake a case he didn't even remember any details from, couldn't remember what they'd even hunted? He'd been moving through the motions, and the question wasn't _how_ he had been doing that _,_ but _why_ he was.

 ** _One thing lead to another, we were young._**

The early days, before they knew. Sam remembered the connection he had forged so simply with the caretaker, with that quirky little man with his flashing eyes and devilish chuckle. He remembered the feeling; fleeting and unknown at the time, disappearing before he could consciously register it. Something he had only ever connected with his brother. The way he knew, somehow, that he could zig and the other would zag.

Before it all began to feel real; the Apocalypse and Lucifer, before he'd had to make that _call_. When Angels were still a vast new concept and they were all dicks but Castiel.

A dark, creeping sorrow was sweeping across Sam's chest, darkening his blood.

 ** _And we would scream together songs unsung?_**

"Put it off." he cried weakly, a sob.

He was pressing his hands against his ears as though taking away the sound could help it end in his head. Could take those chords, those notes, that _sound_ away. He didn't want to feel it, didn't want the sharp wet sting in his eyes or the pit growing in his stomach, ready to engulf him. His knees hit the asphalt hard. His elbow knocked the trunk of the car.

For so long the song had haunted him because he'd lost his brother so many fucking times it made his heart cry.

When had it begun to symbolise anything else? When had he begun to think of it as-

No, he couldn't. He couldn't go there. To go there was to admit to himself that it was real and if he did that it'd break him. He knew that, as surely as he knew proven fact. He _knew_ it on a cell-deep level.

Why had it had to go down the way it had?

 ** _It was the heat of the moment._**

And Sam was lost.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

"Sam?"

The voice was far away, vague and familiar as he tried to swim the mire of unconsciousness towards the dim light.

"Cummon, buddy. Sam? Sam!"

The light spread as he grew closer to it, like the sky above a deep lake. He reached for the surface even though the brightness began to burn. He tried not to wish he hadn't when the burning made old scars scream, scars that weren't even there anymore. Scars taken away by Cas. He let out a grown as he tried to blink his eyes, everything slow and painful as his body fought to stay unconscious.

"Atta boy, common, dude. Here we go."

Someone was sitting him upright. He wasn't sure he was lying down, but someone was definitely trying to prop him up. He could feel his weight in their hands. His shoulders hurt. Old leather and road dust and something acidic reached his nose, and some part of him recoiled.

"Nope. No way, man. Get your ass up."

"Dean?" he rasped, squinting as the brightness began to sink away and fade into familiar darkness.

Dusk, or pre-dawn. Sometimes Sam couldn't tell the difference when they'd been on the road for days. Sometimes it didn't matter even if he could tell. The blurred outline of his older brother came into view, the source of the smell of old leather, the familiarity of his deodorant and something musty, something Sam recognised from hunt after hunt; old, dried blood. His stomach rolled again.

"Jeezus, Sammy. You scared the hell outta me. What's wrong?"

Sam managed to shake his head, trying to sit up properly by himself as Dean's hands began to back off. His brother was crouching before him on the uneven surface of the highway and had propped Sam up against the rear wheel of the Impala. Sam rolled his stiff shoulders and dropped his head back against the sleek black body of the car. It was cool against his neck.

"How long was I out?" he asked, trying to focus on the faintly blurry image of his older brother's face.

"Couple minutes." Dean answered flatly, and Sam didn't have the energy to argue it.

Dean looked tired and worried, worn out. They needed to get off the road a few days. Eat some food. Drink something other than beer and liquor. Sam groaned as he shoved off the gritty road, shards of gravel cutting into his palms. He must have lurched further than he thought he had on his way to his feet because Dean reached out half-way out to Sam's elbow before catching his own movement, shoving the hand in his jacket pocket instead.

"Y'Good?"

Sam scrounged up a weak smile at his brother's reaction.

"Yeah, yeah I'm good."

He didn't sound convincing to his own ears, but Dean looked at him for one long moment before giving him a sharp nod and jerking his head towards the front of the car.

"Cummon. We'll stop at the next motel."

"I'm fine, Dean. We don't have to-"

"Yes," Dean confirmed, sighing at his shoes before straightening again, the weight on his shoulders visible as he gave up hiding it, "yeah we do. You need a good night's sleep."

At Sam's narrow-eyed, disbelieving look, Dean rolled his eyes.

"And so do I." His voice wore a little thin like it did when he was trying to use irritation to cover up any vulnerability, "Just get your ass in the car."

Sam gave him a faint, single-breathed sort of laugh and Dean only scowled and turned on his heel. His brother followed after him, trying to ignore the weakness in his knees and the stiff discomfort of what felt like every other muscle in his whole body.

He sank into the comforting, softened leather of the front seat, tipping his head back to laugh through a groan as his body cried out in discomfort. Dean shot him a curious, concerned look and Sam reached out to yank his door closed. They sat for a moment, Sam closing his eyes and waiting for his brother to start the car while Dean looked at him carefully. Eventually, Sam cracked an eye open.

"Are you gonna drive, or what?"

"Are we gonna talk about it?" Dean countered, his face serious even while Sam could see the reluctance hidden behind the concern in his eyes.

Sam smiled wanly.

"What, you want a chick flick moment now?" Sam jibed half-heartedly, part of him hoping Dean would just say yes so that he could spew out the awful that was inside of him.

While at the same time he was hoping he didn't, because Sam wasn't sure he'd be able to stop once he started. Best to just lock it up and keep it out of the light.

"Shut up." Dean said at last, finally dropping the stare as he started up the Impala, the engine rumbling comfortably under them as Dean turned the car back onto the road proper.

They drove for long moments in in the quiet air of night-time road, something that Sam secretly cherished even when they were bruised and battered and worn out. Somehow they never got sick of the car, or at least he didn't. It was hard to think of Dean ever being tired of the 67, from the way he treated it. He closed his eyes and let the engine lull him like it had for so many years, right from when he was little enough to sleep in the backseat while his father drove and Dean learned all he could about backroads and maps and developing an ingrained sense of direction.

What little relief Sam might have taken from their conversation ending was short-lived, however, when Dean eventually spoke again.

"We find a motel, and then you're gonna talk and I'm gonna drink and we're gonna get a proper eight hours."

Sam looked out the window, knowing he didn't need to acknowledge his brother's plan. When Dean used that no-nonsense big-brother tone with him it took a lot to fight it.

And Sam just didn't have the energy.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

Dean tossed him the room key as he secured the Impala. Sam unlocked the motel door and continued walking, reaching and dropping into the bed. They always slept in the same order, the sudden thought struck him, Dean on the same side he'd been in the motels when they were little. The one closest the door. Funny how the little things became ingrained.

Even if the thought of sleeping in the other bed didn't make him vaguely uncomfortable, Sam just didn't have the willpower to get back up. The bed smelled like cheap soap and bland washing powder, but the sheets and pillowcase were clean so he couldn't complain. His face was mashed into the edge of the pillow, his legs stretched down so that his feet hung over the end. One arm slid from the mattress and dangled, unable to muster the energy to pull itself back up.

Sam was trying, sluggishly and without much lick, to toe his shoes off when Dean came in and closed the door. The elder Winchester set about ditching his jacket and boots and making his way with his duffel to the bathroom, not bothering to fish out his toilet bag first. He didn't bother putting the light on, and Sam was grateful.

Dean was quick and quiet in the bathroom, dropping his duffel by the foot of his bed and falling onto his mattress with a sigh Sam knew well. It was as close to content as they got, a momentary release of air that signified that in that moment he wasn't thinking about the world they lived in, or the monsters they fought or the trouble they seemed to burrow deeper and deeper into. Sam quite liked it really, that sound.

For a moment, there was peace.

"You're never gonna get them off like that." Dean spoke up, "You're not even trying."

"M'Tired." Sam answered, and he sounded it.

He couldn't even lift his head from the pillow, already falling asleep a little even as his feet slid unhelpfully against each other and did not much else. Dean gave a sympathetic sigh.

"Don't make me come over there and take them off you."

"Shut up." Sam said, and stopped moving his feet.

There was a brief pause, before he heaved a mournful sigh and forced himself up on his elbows, twisting to reach for his shoes, contorting to try and untie the laces with as little movement as possible. For Dean it was almost painful to watch. But in the end Sam managed it, slumping back against the duvet in relief. A lazy, triumphant smile took over his features.

"Gotcha." he sighed, closing his eyes again and stretching out as best he could before tucking his knees up in his favoured sleeping-position.

Dean snorted, lying back against the duvet on his own bed and stifling a yawn that made his eyes water. He really could just fall asleep, nobody could blame him. And who knows? Maybe in the morning Sam'd be back to being his usual snarky, know-it-all self without the need for any older brother intervention. Dean sighed, forcing his eyes open even though his eyelids were lead.

"Sam?"

His little brother gave a grumbled sound that was more of a whine.

"Dean."

His tone was reprimand, blunt refusal. Dean debated. There was a long moment of waiting silence in the motel room.

"Sammy."

"I don't wanna talk about it." Sam's answer was instant, ready.

Dean bit back a groan. Sam's stubborn refusal would make this a whole lot harder than it need to be. And take a lot longer than he wanted it to.

"I don't."

Dean looked up at the dull grey of the ceiling in the darkness. The faint strobes of a fluorescent sign lit the strip of lighter grey above the drawn curtains, and Dean pinned his gaze to it, watching it flick on and off, almost able to hear the buzz.

"We'll find another way."

For a moment, he thought Sam might have fallen asleep. His brother was exhausted, and they'd been in need of a proper sleep for too long. Nights in the Impala weren't what they used to be when they were little. Sam barely fit in the backseat.

"Dean…"

"We'll get him, Sam. He may be Satan but he's still an Angel. That means he can die like one."

"Dean."

"We'll find a way that doesn't mean he needs to be in your skin, Sammy. We'll find it, we always do."

"Dean."

"We just need to regroup. We'll head to Bobby's, and together we'll find-"

" _Dean_."

He paused, turning to look at his brother. Sam had pushed himself into a half-lean half-sit, his hands supporting him from the mattress only barely. He really needed some sleep. His face was pale and the circles around his eyes were only getting darker. Dean looked at him, and Sam looked back. For a moment there was nothing and then Dean raised an eyebrow, tipping his head questioningly to one side when Sam didn't say anything else.

Sam flopped back down, seeming to shrink as he sighed out a tired, worn-out sound.

"It's not about Lucifer. Or at least it's not _just_ about him. Aren't we gonna talk about it? How we got him killed? Or are we just gonna pretend nothing happened?"

"Sam…"

"Because I can't so that. I've been trying, but I can't. I just _can't_ , Dean. We got him killed. We should've stayed with him and taken Lucifer on together. The three of us coulda done it."

"Sam, he didn't want us to-"

"Well _I_ didn't want him to die, but it happened. He died, Dean, and it's our fault."

"Sam, he was an archangel. If he couldn't beat Lucifer, what chance did we have right then? We had to leave, and you know it. And he told us to go. That's gotta-"

"And how many times have we said that? How many times have we told people, told each other to go and leave us to fight off whatever we were facing? How many times, Dean? And we never listen. But this time… This time he dies, and we could have saved him."

His voice stopped off, a touch of anguish colouring his tone. Dean didn't like to hear it.

"You don't know that." he tried to reason, trying to make his tone light and failing miserably.

"He'd have had a better chance if we'd stayed instead of running like we did."

Sam was getting worked up, and all Dean wanted to do was sleep. Sam had way too much energy for being annoyed and regretful at this time of night. Dean tried his best to sound comforting when he replied, but it had never been his strong suit, feelings.

"If we'd stayed, we'd be dead too."

"Well then we'd-" Sam cut himself off, hissing out his terse breath between his teeth and throwing an arm over his eyes to shut the room out.

Dean sighed, looking at his little brother and wondering what the hell there was that he could do or say that would make this situation suck less than it currently did. And there wasn't anything. He lay back again and looked at the ceiling, watched the slow flicker on-and-off of the light above the curtains and heard Sam's breathing level out and slow down and then fall into sleep.

Short of pulling the irritating archangel out of his ass, there was nothing Dean could do.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

Of course, the Winchesters are not known for their luck. At least not the good stuff, anyway. They spent the afternoon in the motel room and left only when they were hungry to hunt out a half-decent diner, no doubt named after a girl, as was often the case.

They saw the sirens on their way back, and that was that. Escape over. Back to work.

The girl had been found decapitated, her heart missing and her whole body lacking say… four pints of blood.

FBI Agents Young and Cobain took the case. The death was in connection with a hush-hush string of murders in Kentucky, apparently.

They played their parts, danced the dance, and soon were back at the motel. Sam dropped onto his bed with a groan, leaving Dean to tangle with his tie. His older brother was always desperate to get the damned thing off as soon as he could, loosening it with wide, arcing motions and tugging it over his head. Sam opened one eyes to catch the strip of fabric's path as it was tossed, knowing Dean would forget where he'd dropped it.

Dean would insist it was put in his duffel, or that Sam had swapped their ties and lost his open, or something of that ilk. Best for Sam just to make a mental note on it's location. Which was down the back of the dresser this time. Again.

"Man, this is one messed up monster. I don't think he can decide what he wants to be." Dean snorted, dropping on the end of his bed to scrub at his hair and reach for the TV remote.

"Or she." Sam added, just because it was the easiest thing to say and because sometimes it made him feel better to point out his brother's blinkers.

"Or she." Dean conceded, and Sam didn't need to look to know he'd rolled his eyes.

Hypocrite.

"But I mean come on." Dean spoke up again, flicking through channels he wasn't really watching, his light tone unable to cover up that he was thinking pretty deeply on it, "Takes the heart so it looks like a Were, but it's missing blood so it looks like a Vamp. And it's head lopped off? I mean, is this a Hunter's kill?"

"Pretty lousy Hunter." Sam yawned, pushing up into a sitting position against the headboard and stretching out his legs.

"You can say that again." Dean snorted, derision clear in his tone.

Sam didn't blame him, a Hunter who couldn't cover his kills was a problem to everybody. He sorely hoped it was a monster, sadly, because at least their path was straight-forward there. Define it, Find, Kill it. They couldn't just go about offing Hunters, though. Even terrible ones. It just wasn't how they did things, not to mention how pissed other Hunters would be if they found out.

 _And they were Human_ , Sam reminded himself, wishing he could just go to sleep for a few days until this awful heaviness in his chest left, _Human. That means something, remember_.

He brushed a hand over his face and looked over at his brother. Dean was sitting, elbows resting on his knees and TV remote in his hand, but he was miles away. His eyes were deep and thoughtful and Sam was certain he wasn't even aware of where he was right then. He'd want a beer when he came to, though.

Sam pulled out his laptop with a sigh, logging into local security cameras and flicking through them to see if any had a good angle on the alley the body had been found in. When that turned up nothing he switched to lore, and when Dean finally announced he was going for a drink Sam barely heard him, as deep into the lore as he was.

Dean gave him a long hard look before leaving, knowing it was best not to mention that he knew Sam was only trying so hard because the alternative was to wallow in grief like he'd been doing for weeks now. Dean, on the other hand, would curb his own secret guilt by drinking and having a good time.

Who knows? Maybe there'd be a nice blonde at the bar to pass time with. Or a red-head, they were often feisty.

It didn't matter that girls in bars held less hold over him in recent years. And that had nothing to do with Angelic interference or the Apocalypse or Demons or anything Hunter related. He was just maturing, that was all, God forbid. Yeah, that was it. It wasn't anything to do with him, his body was just looking for something a little more, maybe. All of Sam's bollocks about Cas was just that, bollocks.

"Psssh." he muttered to himself as he passed the Impala with a fond glance and headed down the street to the bar he'd spotted on the corner, "I need a drink."

And drink Dean did, with a cute brunette who had a killer smile and a devious twinkle in her eye. It had been just after dinner when they got back to the motel but Dean drank like it was night already, and very soon it was. He and… Janine? Lucy? Nope, wait…

Well, Dean had forgotten her name. When she wanted to head off somewhere and Dean had been happy to stay they had parted ways with a final shot, and Dean had yet to check out anyone else. For now he'd stay at the bar where he was, drinking like he didn't have to be up in the morning, drinking to burn away the coldness that lingered in his system from their failure with Lucifer, from the loss they'd taken and from worry over Sam, who was taking it harder than Dean had expected.

It wasn't like they'd lost Cas, was it? Sure, Gabriel had turned from the Dark Side in the end but he was still a major pain in the ass and after what he'd put Sammy through? He was lucky they hadn't ended him themselves for all his bullshit. And sure, it sucked that they'd lost someone on their side, but it wasn't like it was the first time, was it? It always sucked. But Sam had grieved before and seemed to hold up better then than now.

What the hell was it that was different about this time, huh?

Why was Sam so cut up about losing the lousy Archangel?

He _hated_ the guy, didn't he? He'd told Dean as much. Many times. Dean had seen it in play, too. When they cornered him, when they caught him in that stupid fake hospital. When they'd dumped him in a Fire Ring. There was no love lost there.

But still, when Gabriel had faced off against Lucifer Sam had been reluctant to leave, following Kali with a look on his face that Dean hadn't tried to decipher at the time, too busy thinking about getting the fuck outta there. But had Sam lingered? Dean frowned, trying to think through the pleasant fog in his brain. Had he? He wasn't sure.

Sure, Gabriel had come round in the end and he'd given it his best shot. And he'd gotten them outta there, listened when Dean dressed him down about those Gods still being his friends, his family despite trying to kill him. Sam hadn't been keen on the idea, but Sam was rarely keen on _any_ idea and…

And what? He couldn't remember.

But it wasn't like they'd lost Cas, was it? Or Bobby or Ellen or Jo. Or even Rufus. It was only Gabriel. It sucked, but it wasn't like they'd lost family, right?

Dean waved his hand absently for another drink, taking a long swig from the bottle as soon as it arrived, his gaze wandering the the crappy TV on the shelf behind the bar, some out-of-date dude in a cheap suit giving them the late weather report. Dean drank his beer and watched the colours move as the man spoke words he couldn't hear.

Imagine being on TV at this time of night. Who's paying attention now, huh? Insomniacs and old ladies.

And him, he supposed.

The screen wavered, changing to a chocolate bar commercial. Dean gave a weak smirk. He knew the jingle to this one. It drove Sam crazy, but Dean kind of liked it. Because it drove Sam crazy. He watched the sock puppets dance across the screen, and then it faded out to be replaced by some other late-night commercial for…

Aww, cumin! They'd replaced the Pepsi guy. Why would you do a thing like that? He was a legend. Well, in the commercial world, anyway. Then again, there was all that scandal about-

Hey, wait.

Dean lowered his beer so hard the bottle hit the bar top and sent an uncomfortable jarring through his arm. Dean barely noticed, staring up at the screen as he watched in disbelief as a guy they knew was-

Couldn't be. Could it?

The screen flicked to a commercial about some medical cream at a snap of the fingers, and Dean was sure.

Holy crap.

It was a good thing he'd settled with the barman already, not that he thought about it as he grabbed his jacket and headed out of the bar.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five_

"I dunno, Bobby."

Sam sighed, adjusting his shoulder against his ear as he typed something into his laptop. Through the phone held captive there he could hear the weariness echoed in the voice of their father-figure.

"Sure sounds like it, son. I know a renegade Hunter is never good news, but it's a better soundin' scenario than a whole new monster. Or Werewolves and Vampires huntin' together."

Sam said nothing, staring blankly at the screen and thinking reluctantly of the kitchen in which Bobby was likely standing, of the pot on the hob or the plate of food he'd been eating when Sam called. He glanced at the half-empty beer bottle on his nightstand and winced. Being back at Bobby's sounded more and more like a good idea, but every time they'd decided to head out there something had come up. Another Demon. Another case. Another week of motels and beer and bad food.

"Bobby…" Sam trailed off, couldn't say what it was he had begun to say. Wasn't even sure what it was.

There was a low whistling sound from the other end of the line. A pale longing kicked up inside Sam. He wanted to be back home so badly. John Winchester had never been a soft-hearted man with his sons. Despite appearances and words, Bobby Singer was. Under a tough, miles-deep outer shell, of course. John had raised them to be tough and they were. But Sam… Sam had always been the one swallowing down the need for a hug. Heart-to-hearts weren't a Winchester specialty.

Of course, that didn't mean he hadn't dragged his share of them from his brother.

"You been sleeping?" came the gruff reply, and Sam gave a watery smile.

"Trying." he answered. "Doesn't always work, you know that."

"Mhm." came the mildly scolding reply, "When'll I next have you boys for dinner?"

Sam's smile became a grin as a warmth settled in his chest.

"Hopefully soon. We've been trying to get over for a while, but…"

"Cases."

"Yeah."

"Well, try harder. Does a man good to sleep in a house every once in a while. Eat somethin' that wasn't cooked in too many years of grease."

Sam managed a chuckle.

"Yeah, sounds good, Bobby."

Bobby was quiet on the other end of the line for a moment, and Sam felt the change in the sound, sighed in resignation at what he knew was coming.

"It's natural to mourn, Sam."

"Bobby…"

"No, Sam. Listen to me when I say that it's _natural_. If you weren't cut up about it I'd be concerned, ya hear?"

Sam said nothing, looking down at the faded screen of his laptop, running his fingers over the mousepad to prevent it from going to sleep.

"Dean, now him I can understand pushin' on like normal. He's a lot more like John in that. He finds a way. But Sam-"

"I'm just as used to moving on as he is." Sam's voice was blunt.

"This is different, though." Bobby answered lightly, instead of snarling like Sam half wished he would. At least if he could provoke Bobby just a little he'd drop it. "Ain't it?"

Sam said nothing, but his silence was telling. Bobby sighed, sounding defeated.

"Just come by when you can, alright? A few days down here'd do you good."

Sam felt guilt coil in his gut.

"Bobby…" he started, apologetic, and Bobby hummed.

"It's gonna be different for you because you had something with him Dean didn't."

Sam swallowed, wishing he could grow used to the loss curling in his throat and tainting the taste of his air.

"What was that?" he asked, wondering if Bobby could possibly know about the way-

The difference in how he felt. The feeling that was almost recognition with a faintness of something unknown that he couldn't touch, something a part of him he didn't know existed had been hoping to reach out for. Something he couldn't ever recognise now, something that would never become known to him now. Not now.

Bobby's voice was quiet and sympathetic when he answered, the words searing the grief Sam was feeling as though giving it meaning.

"A connection."

He couldn't do this anymore, for fear his voice wouldn't last. He swallowed hard as he felt a stinging heat in his eyes.

"Gotta go, Bobby." he managed.

"See ya, Sam." Bobby answered, "You two visit soon."

Sam hung up the call and dropped the cellphone onto the bedspread, watching the little screen fade and go black. There was a twisting thing inside of him like a snake, with scales that were edged and sharp and made breathing painful. His laptop screen glowed softly and expectantly. Dusk had fallen outside and he'd yet to turn any light on, the laptop screen providing the only source to see by.

He laid his fingers on the keyboard, listening to the fan whir quietly and willing himself to feel tired, to feel like he could sleep. If their lives had taught him anything it was was that exhaustion and tiredness weren't the same thing, and that they didn't always visit together. He pushed the computer down from his knees and stood, stretching slowly before padding over to search his duffel bag. When he found what he was looking for he returned to the bedside, untangling the white cable and plugging one end into the square in his palm, the other into the USB slot of the laptop. He typed into the new window on the screen, hesitating before steeling his mind and completing the transaction.

He left it to sort itself out and flicked on the lamp on his nightstand before heading through to the bathroom and turning on the shower, shedding his clothes while he waited on the heat. He stepped into the spray of water, tipping his head back and letting the thankfully high pressure blast his face, washing away grime and most of that ache in his eyes. Sam stood there for a long time before he made any move to wash, allowing the pounding water to dull the aches he was feeling, to soothe the chill of whatever resided inside of him. The heat wouldn't last forever, and Dean would likely be pissed if he wanted to shower before bed, but right then Sam couldn't care less.

Because for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt something close to human. Eventually he scrubbed at his hair, unable to care very much when the suds got caught under his eyelashes because they were washed away pretty quick by the stream of water. He dragged his nails through his hair, just this side of painful on his scalp. When he'd washed thoroughly from head to toe, still he stood, his hands idle and fighting the urge to wrap around his own chest. He fought his own will, knowing that to do so would crumble the defences holding back that dreadful snake inside. He felt it shake out its head, scraping the walls of his very soul.

By the time he turned the water off he felt better. Not magically fixed and returned to some romanticised love of life, but better. He towelled and dressed for bed, taking his time to rub most of the water from his hair as he wandered back into the bedroom. His laptop screen had dimmed and died but the motor whirred comfortably. He typed in his password and ejected the iPod, folding the cable back into his duffel right away so as not risk it getting kicked somewhere to be hunted for in the morning like Dean's tie.

He closed the laptop and placed it carefully on the floor far from Dean's side of the room. A drunken brother had stepped on his stuff before, and it was ridiculous what places charged to install another flimsy sheet of screen.

He left the device alone until he was settled, had kicked the covers untucked from the bottom of the bed, a habit he'd had his entire life. A habit he shared with his brother. Besides taking away the almost constricting feeling of being pinned into the bed it made movement easier should he have to make a quick escape. It was the same as Dean keeping a gun under his pillow, Sam keeping Ruby's knife under his. Best, in their life, to be prepared, even while asleep.

Sam twisted onto his side and untangled the earphones wrapped around his iPod, tucked them into the correct ears. He flicked the lock button, spinning the wheel to Playlists and into Recently Added. He slowed then, pushing his thumb around and listening to that bright, clean click as the little bar lit each song in turn, past songs he knew Dean would like, the album labelled simply _Classic Rock_. It was admittedly more Dean's taste than Sam's, but he liked most of the songs enough to justify the purchase.

As he moved through two thirds of the tracks he began to slow, feeling an anxious tickle join the mix of what he was feeling, his hand trembling imperceptibly. To counteract it he tightened his grip, swallowing the ridiculous fear. It was a song. A freaking song, for Heaven's sake. That was all.

Didn't stop his gut lurching when the title came into view. He had to close his eyes, take a breath that he released in a self-deprecating chuckle. He was being stupid, he knew. He wasn't even sure what had possessed him to buy the album, not really. He pressed the circle in the middle of the wheel and swallowed hard when the first chords rang out.

 ** _I never meant to be so bad to you,  
_** ** _One thing I said that I would never do.  
_** ** _A look from you and I would fall from grace,  
_** ** _And that would wipe the smile right from my face._**

He let it wash over him, his index finger clicking the lock button closed again as his head filled with memories.

 ** _Do you remember when we used to dance?_**

He thought of half-smiles and curious glances, of that navy jumpsuit and the easy laughter of the trickster-turn-caretaker.

 ** _And incidence arose from circumstance?  
_** ** _One thing led to another, we were young.  
_** ** _And we would scream together songs unsung._**

If only there were still songs to sing. Battles they need fight, a way to go back and put off that fated battle. To prevent it. They should have known. They _should_ have known.

 ** _It was the heat of the moment,  
_** ** _Telling me what your heart meant,  
_** ** _The heat of the moment shown in your eyes._**

Hazel. Deep and ever-changing, that constant shifting balance between green and brown that fit the Archangel so well, displayed his layered, complex personality. Sam began to wish for him back.

 ** _And now you find yourself in '82.  
_** ** _The disco hotspots hold no charm for you.  
_** ** _You can't concern yourself with bigger things,  
_** ** _You catch a pearl and ride the Dragon's wings._**

He wasn't sure when it became a prayer. He'd been so careful since that first time, those first few days of being constantly drowned in the awfulness of loss, of what loss he'd caused. He'd prayed without knowing then, praying for the return of the Angel who infuriated him and who'd earned both his hatred and respect so swiftly, so surely.

But now Sam prayed, directly to He himself. There was no point praying to Angels. They wouldn't help, and the only one who might want to couldn't anyway.

 ** _'Cause it's the heat of the moment,  
_** ** _The heat of the moment,  
_** ** _The heat of the moment, shown in your eyes._**

Sam's own eyes were wet now.

 ** _And when your looks are gone and you're alone,  
_** ** _How many nights you sit beside the phone.  
_** ** _What were the things you wanted for yourself?  
_** ** _Teenage ambitions you remember well?_**

The memories of Stanford were instant, powerful. But they didn't bring the same pain they used to. Jessica would always be his burden to bear but somehow… Somehow the pain wasn't there. A dull ache, faint and aged-feeling remained. But it was nothing next to the fresh and raw new wound. And it was something they shared, that rebellion. Sam saw himself in Gabriel. He knew the feeling of growing tired of living up to the expectations of a father who'd never be satisfied.

 ** _It was the heat of the moment,  
_** ** _Telling me what your heart meant,  
_** ** _The heat of the moment shown in your eyes._**

 ** _It was the heat of the moment,  
_** ** _The heat of the moment,  
_** ** _The heat of the moment, shown in your eyes._**

 ** _Heat of the moment.  
_** ** _Heat of the moment.  
_** ** _Heat of the moment._**

 ** _Heat of the moment.  
_** ** _Heat of the moment.  
_** ** _Heat of the moment._**

Sleep found Sam uneasily, painful and cold. But somewhere that song was playing, and with it it brought a comfort Sam couldn't begin to guess at. It was almost like the embrace of something greater than himself.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter Six_

It was his brother crashing through the door that woke Sam, throwing him upright with his gun cocked towards the sound before he'd even properly opened his eyes. Years of muscle memory. He blinked forcefully as he urged his brain to catch up, eyes adjusting in the darkness to see the figure of his older brother leaning heavily against the open door and jiggling the key in the lock, trying to remove it to close the door.

Even from across the room Sam could smell the alcohol on him, and he sighed as he flicked the safety back on and dumped the pistol on his nightstand.

"What the hell, Dean?" he asked wearily, busying his hands untangling the earphone wires around his shoulder and neck, "Did you have to bust in like that? I coulda shot you."

Dean only gave a sarcastic snort and tugged the key from the lock triumphantly, waggling it in the air and throwing the door closed with a snap that made Sam wince. The alarm clock said it was nearly 2am. Sam watched Dean's drunken attempts at forcing the key in the lock, trying to convince himself that at any other time he'd find it amusing. Right then he was just pissed at being woken.

Eventually he grew sick of it and tossed his covers aside, striding over and snatching the key from his bemused-looking brother, locking the door and drawing the bolt while he was at it. He shot Dean a glare and brushed past him to return to his bed. Dean pulled a face and followed him over, reaching for the TV remote and flipping it on. Thankfully the volume was already set low, because Sam didn't fancy getting chased from the motel because of noise complaints. Not while he was still feeling snarky and exhausted.

"What are you doing?"

Dean turned groggily, seemingly thinking over the question before he came to an answer. His whole face lit up with purpose, and Sam groaned, just _knowing_ he wasn't going to like it. He rarely did when Dean got like this. He knew people dealt with things differently, and God knows he knew the two of them fell into that category. But it was 2am and one proper night's sleep wasn't enough to balance out the increasing nights they'd been spending in the Impala lately.

"We need to watch TV." he answered, and Sam wasn't sure whether he could ever drink enough to look as excited as Dean did right then.

It just didn't seem fair that Dean could move on and he couldn't. Connection or no connection, it sucked. But then again, what in their lives didn't?

"And I'm out." he answered, dropping back onto his mattress with a deep yawn, "Go to sleep, Dean."

"Come on, Sammy. We _need_ to." Dean moaned back, dropping the remote onto the crappy sofa and stumbleing around it to stand at Sam's bedside.

Sam said nothing, keeping his eyes closed in the faint, fervent hope that his brother would just give it up. Dean grumbled inarticulately, and Sam ignored him. Dean, on the other hand, was apparently adamant that they watch TV at hell-o'clock in the morning, because he took hold of Sam's duvet and dumped it on the floor between them.

" _Dean!_ "

"Sam, I mean it. You need to watch."

Sam sat up and shot him a glare, shoving him out of the way as he reached for his covers.

"Fuck off."

He dragged his covers up and threw them messily over himself, too tired to care if it was the right way. He dropped back down and drew them up to his chin, snorting at Dean's frown and turning his back on both him and the TV. When he didn't hear anything, he gave a frustrated growl.

"Go to sleep, Dean. Leave me alone."

"Sorry." Dean cried cheerfully, "Can't."

Sam shoved against Dean when he tried to drag him out of bed, making himself dead weight to break Dean's hold and get away. He drew his covers firmly from his brother's grip, his pillow calling his name, petulant for him to return. He needed sleep. If he managed to avoid nightmares then sleep was the best place to be. Quiet, safe, free from the constant exhaustion and guilt.

"Come on, just let me sleep. I'm not in the mood for this."

Dean's reply was beer-hazed and made little to no sense as they wrestled for the covers, falling over them and onto of Sam, each of them jerking the cover one way or the other and trying to elbow each other away.

There were several long moments of regrettably childish yelling and wrestling until Sam got the upper hand and upended his brother on the floor, snatching back his covers.

"Go to _sleep_!" he spat.

Dean got blearily to his feet, putting his hands on his hips as he scowled down at Sam.

Sam just scowled right back until Dean sighed and wandered back to the sofa.

"Dude, just watch with me." Dean repeated, grabbing clumsily for the remote and then flipping through channels to find one that would show a predominant amount of commercials, hoping that it'd run the one he saw, "I'm serious. If I'm crazy, fine, but if it comes on you'll see."

"See _what_ , Dean? What could be so important that I can't sleep?" Sam hissed, his voice low and unhappy and edging towards anger.

"Just trust me?" Dean answered, wishing he could explain but afraid it would only hurt Sam further if he turned out to be wrong, "Okay? Just- _Dude_ , it's important, right? I promise."

"Dean, you're drunk-"

" _Please,_ Sammy."

They stared each other down for a long moment, each with his own expression set and his eyes narrowed. Eventually, it was Sam who gave out. His shoulders slumped and he dropped his head, heaving a long, tired sigh.

"Fine." he said, abandoning any hopes of sleep and dropping down onto the sofa beside his brother, "But it better be worth it."

Dean flashed him a grim grin as he opened himself a beer, turning towards the screen and pushing the volume up a little as they settled in. When Sam reached a hand in front of his face, empty palm up, Dean slapped a beer into it. The click-hiss of the lid popping was eager in the quiet room, and it took everything Dean had not to childishly cross his fingers as he began what he just knew was going to be hours of mindless staring. Sam drank quietly beside him, resigned to his older brother's whim, and they could almost pretend they had a normal life, then.

"Dean? Sam spoke up after what felt like a forever of mind-numbing, crappy sales pitches, making a show of checking his watch, "It's 4:45. I don't think-"

"Sshh." Dean answered absently, chewing his way slowly through a handful of salt and vinegar chips he'd produced from God only knew where.

The smell made Sam's eyes water and he leaned to the side away from Dean as he began to plead his case once more.

"We've been sitting here for hours. We've got the Morgue in the morning and I'm _tired_ , Dean."

"Shh." Dean repeated, and Sam scowled in reply.

"I don't get it, why are we watching this?" he gestured to the little motel TV with a wild arm, "What am I supposed to be looking for? Because if this is for the case, I don't see how over-priced jewellery or fitness equipment has to do with-"

"It's not for a case." Dean interrupted calmly, blinking as he seemed to come to himself again, "At least, not for this one."

"Then _what_ , Dean?"

Sam began to realise his brother was avoiding looking his way. He got that look about him when he was purposefully avoiding it, a sort of tightness around his eyes and mouth as his face tried to force relaxed ignorance. Sam was beginning to lose his temper. He was exhausted and miserable and sick to death and he just wanted a few hours away from it.

" _Dean!"_

"Trust me, Sammy."

"What are we even looking for?"

"Pepsi." Dean answered, vague and unhelpful, "The dude selling Pepsi."

Sam's sigh was more a growl of frustration than anything else. He stared at his brother, looking back and forth between him and the TV as though it would be able to explain the weird behaviour.

"You got me sitting here so we can see the guy in the _Pepsi_ commercial?" he asked, indignant and peeved beyond what he might had he had any sleep, "Are you kidding me? Because if you wanted to ogle the guy, the thing'll be on YouTube and I mean, if you were that desperate you've got Cas and-"

"Not _that_ guy!" Dean snapped back, finally looking at Sam with an exasperated, frustrated expression, "The _new_ one, Sam! And I'm not even going to get into the whole Cas thing-"

"What," Sam replied, finally at his breaking point, his words rising without thought and beginning to take on an edge he usually held back, "having the guy at your beck and call not good enough? You gotta ogle some dude on-"

"Shut up, Sam." Dean snarled, suddenly losing his cool, "About Cas and anything else. I _told_ you, I'm not-"

"Whatever." Sam spat, getting up from the sofa with a wince as his body screamed in complaint, "I'm going to bed."

"No, Sam, _wait_!" Dean yelped, reaching out to grab hold of his brother's sleeve, forcing his voice quiet once more, "You have to stay up, man. It's bound to come on and I promise you you need to see it."

"Dean-"

"It's important." Dean levelled his most serious look Sam's way, "It's not- It's a- _shit_ , it's not a human, okay? At least, I need to check. _We_ need to check."

"How are we gonna do that, Dean? From just _looking_ at the guy? What is he?"

Dean grimaced, torn between needing Sam to stay awake and getting his hopes up. If he was wrong…

"Sammy, please, okay? Sit."

The commercial on the screen ended and a new jingle began to play.

"Dean." Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and whining, "Why can't you just-"

"Shhh!"

Sam threw him a foul look as Dean gave his sleeve a hard tug, turning to look at the TV.

" _Dean!_ "

"Shh! Sam, look!"

Sam threw a glance at the screen, opening his mouth to tell his brother on no uncertain terms that he could go to _Hell_ , when the camera swung onto a figure in a black cap and Pepsi blue shirt. His hair, golden brown and wavy at the end, peeked out from under the cap and curled around his neck. His eyes flashed towards the panning camera as Sam's breath caught, a crooked sort of smile taking over that mouth.

It was when he spoke that Sam fell back into his seat, his hands trembling as he ran one over his face, unable even to blink lest what he was seeing disappear.

"I- I don't believe it." Sam breathed, his eyes locked on the TV screen, his heart in his throat, "How? How can- Dean _how_? How is he…"

"I don't know." Dean murmured back, "But hey, we'll find out, right?"

Sam could only nod, watching the rest of the commercial play out, ending on a snap of the fingers. If Sam hadn't been sure before, he sure as Hell was then. That tiny little gesture was so _Gabriel_ that it physically hurt to see it.

"We…" Sam's words wouldn't work as his thoughts turned to his laptop.

He bolted from the sofa, suddenly so far from tired. He knew this feeling. It was the one he got when something just _clicked_ about a case, right when they were out of options and worn thin. He threw open the lid of his laptop, pulling up a search bar and typing in so hard the keyclicks sounded sharply in the room. Dean had moved to stand beside him, looking over his shoulder as the video clips filled the screen.

"It's him." Sam said as one began to play, pausing it when the man on the screen turned to meet the camera face on.

Even the name tag on the polo shirt was visible in that stilled shot, and Sam heard himself laugh as he saw it.

 _Gabe_.

"It's him."

He looked up at Dean, seeing his brother's matching grin as he clapped Sam on the back.

"It's him." he confirmed.

Sam looked back down at the screen, feeling something strange and pleasant warm that cold snake pit in his abdomen. There was no mistaking it. The face grinning at the camera had haunted Sam for weeks, twisted in painful dying expressions. But here, here it was how Sam remembered it, crooked grin and mischief lighting the gold in his hazel eyes.

 _He was alive_.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Seven_

To say that Sam was distracted the next morning was an understatement. Dean was stuck trying his best to find subtle ways to get Sam's attention while they visited the M.E. for cause of death and elbowing him while they conducted interviews with the second round of friends and family. For the most part Sam kept tuning out, his expression telling the people they were with that he was listening, but Dean thought it was fairly clear Sam's brain was elsewhere.

They'd talked about it late into the morning before grabbing a meagre couple hours of sleep. It was fairly evident that they had to go and check it out. If the Archangel was indeed still alive, or had been resurrected, then it would be careless of them to overlook the possibility of him joining their side. Team Free Will could only benefit from having another Angel friendly on staff. Not to mention having him up their sleeve could provide a huge advantage besides just in battle, especially when the rest of Heaven's elite _and_ Lucifer thought him dead.

However, there was still a case here, and neither Winchester felt right abandoning it. They'd never made a habit of doing so, even when all the big games had begun, and they weren't about to start now. So they had to see this through first, and _then_ check out the new Pepsi guy. Sam had already done some digging and gotten an address for his agent. It was a couple states over, but they'd travelled further for a case.

It seemed Gabriel the Archangel went by Samson Chester these days, something a drunken Dean had found endlessly amusing while Sam himself rolled his eyes and refused to rise to the taunts as he hacked sites and found out everything they could about him. Gabriel's cover was fairly new to the acting gig, having seemingly popped up out of the blue at an audition mere days after their face-off with Lucifer, when Sam and Dean had presumed him dead. As far as they could tell, the agent of another actor there had seen his pitch and offered her card, and bam. He'd gotten the spot, and that was that.

They were both exhausted when they met with the M.E. the next morning, Dean fighting a hangover on top of keeping tabs on the daydreaming _Agent Cobain_. The visit turned up nothing new, confirming only that the girl was missing her heart and had had her head removed with a sharp blade with a smooth edge, possibly a machete or a large skinning blade favoured by big game hunters. All the M.E. could add was that if it weren't for the decapitation, he would have put his money on animal attack, on account of how vicious and messy the chest wound was, telling them it was possible she had bled out into the soil. There were also signs of animal activity around one forearm which could have been done post- or perri-mortem.

To Sam and Dean, it looked like a Werewolf bite, and a neat one at that.

The family hadn't yielded much either, other than being vaguely offended that Agent Cobain kept drifting out of conversation and staring at his shoes. Dean had had to scramble pretty quickly for a cover story, claiming his partner had lost a relative recently and wasn't at his best today. Grieving parents aren't all that keen to find out the Agents assigned to their child's murder can't even pay attention to it, and Dean felt rightfully proud of the level of sweet-talking he had had to accomplish to smooth the waters and ensure they told the brothers everything.

By the time they were back at the motel and debating dinner, he'd had enough.

"This would go a lot quicker if I wasn't doing it all on my own, you know."

Sam lifted his head and turned to look at him, his eyes full of other thoughts.

"Hm?"

Dean rolled his eyes, tugging off his tie.

"See what I mean? You're a million miles away, Sam."

"Sorry." Sam answered, slipping his arms from his suit jacket even as his expression began to tune out again.

"You're still doing it!" Dean complained, looking as though he couldn't decide whether he was amused or annoyed, " _Man_ he's got you good."

He chuckled as he hunted for his duffel, tugging out a T-shirt with a smile that told just how glad he was to see it. He shed his button-up shirt in seconds, pulling the T-shirt over his head with a contented sigh. He looked up at Sam as he sat down to untie his shoes, taking a long look at him.

Sam hadn't moved, standing still in the middle of the room with his jacket in his hand and a thoughtful, faraway expression on his face. Dean reached over for his pillow and tossed it at him, catching him in the leg. Sam blinked awake and turned to look at him, his brow furrowing as he looked down at himself.

"Sorry, what?"

That time Dean did laugh.

"He's got you zoning out like crazy today. You've spent longer checked out than you have in."

Sam rolled his eyes, finally moving to lay his jacket down and set about changing into his civilian clothes too.

"I just wonder how he did it." he answered, his voice taking on a faintly sorrowful tone, "And why he didn't bother to tell us."

Dean watched Sam closely, studying the darkness lurking in his eyes and the weird set of his grim smile.

"Uh huh." he said slowly.

Sam shot him a look.

"I am!"

And Dean grinned then, because he'd raised Sam. He could read that kid inside out. And right now, he saw what Sam was trying and failing to hide as though it was written in hot pink Sharpie across his face.

"Sure." he hummed, turning away deliberately, his eyebrows raised disbelievingly, "I'm sure that's all it is."

Sam opened his mouth, looking scandalised and offended, but there was a faint red crawling up his neck and when Dean just gave him that _look_ again, Sam snapped his mouth shut with a growl.

"Shut up."

Dean only laughed, listening to his little brother grumble as they got ready to head out for food. It didn't matter whether he really believed what he suspected. He was too damn busy being glad Sam wasn't moping the way he had been since that night in that stupid God Hotel. There was something different about him now, like the life had been put back into him. Dean was relieved, his worries easing to see Sam really look alive again.

If he owed that to the infuriating asshole of a douchebag Archangel, then so be it.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter Eight_

At dinner Sam was as quiet as he'd been all day. As quiet as he'd been for weeks. Probably longer. Dean's mind moved into unhealthy territory at the memory of Sam during the breaking Seals. But Sam of late had been different from then. There were no secrets now, no darknesses surrounding his little brother that he couldn't see. Since Gabriel's death Sam had been quiet and sullen, falling in upon himself in a way Dean knew well. Christ, he'd done it himself when he got out of Hell.

But now, after what they'd discovered last night, Sam was quiet in a different way. Less sullen and more… pensive.

Sure, it still sucked that his brother wasn't all there with him, but a thoughtful Sam was better than a broken one. Even Dean could see that.

"What'll it be, Sugar?"

Dean blinked and looked up in surprise at the waitress, so busy with his own concern for Sam that he hadn't heard her come over. Sam was looking equally bemused, his gaze flickering over the table to the waitress before it dawned in his eyes where he was.

Man was he deep in his own head.

"I'll have the bacon cheeseburger." Dean answered on rote, knowing that a place like this was bound to serve it.

Who wouldn't? Bacon and a burger, and cheese. One of life's greatest hits.

The waitress flashed him a smile as she noted it on her pad, her gaze flicking sweetly to him before she turned on Sam. Dean watched the late afternoon sun filter through the blinds and light strands of her hair in an ebony sort of fire. Dean's stomach lurched, a little. _God_ she was pretty.

"And what about you, Handsome?"

Sam gave her a weak attempt at a smile, making Dean mentally roll his eyes.

"I'll just have-"

"He'll have a tofu burger." Dean interjected with a wrinkle of his nose.

He shrugged at Sam when his brother shot him a look.

"Gotta be better for ya than another salad." he grinned.

Sam looked ready to argue it, giving her an apologetic sort of smile that Dean had seen so often. The one that said _I'm sorry for my brother, he's an idiot_. A retort was coming, Dean readying himself for it. He'd _missed_ this, the back and forth, the banter, the quips. He'd missed his brother. But just when he'd flicked her a look and opened his mouth, Sam's face changed. His eyes hit Dean and something in them _moved_. He closed his mouth again and gave the waitress a winning smile, making her turn a little pink at the tops of her cheeks.

"You know what, uhh-" He glanced at her name badge, " _Lottie_ , I'll have a cheeseburger. And _he'll_ take your number, if it's available."

While Lottie flushed and looked at them both with startled eyes, Sam put his palms flat on the table and pushed himself to his feet.

"'Scuse me." he said, and with a gleeful glance Dean's way he made his way across the diner to the bathroom.

Dean watched him go, feeling a flush of annoyance at the same time his heart lifted. So the kid was back, huh? He gave Lottie an apologetic smile, making sure to meet her azure eyes. Something about them made him faintly wonder if he'd met her before.

"My brother has a classy sense of humour." he said, giving her an easy grin when she chuckled.

"He's subtle." she commented, tossing an amused glance in the direction of the men's room, "But effective, I guess."

She glanced back at Dean and bout her lip, before grinning at herself and laughing.

"What the heck."

Dean watched in surprise as she scribbled on the bottom of her notepad and then tore a piece of the page off, setting it carefully on the table in front of Dean. When he met her eyes she gave him a gentle smirk and began to walk off.

"I finish at seven." she tossed over her shoulder, "I guess if you're around then I could use the company on the walk home."

When Sam came back from the bathroom it was like he knew it all just by looking at Dean.

"Shut up." Dean said in response to the raised eyebrow.

Sam's chuckle was rich and warm and Dean found it difficult to keep up the veneer of irritation in the face of it. He'd missed his kid brother way too freakin' much.

They pretty much lost that evening, Sam clapping Dean on the shoulder when he'd finished eating, throwing on his jacket and giving Dean a knowing grin before pretending to get serious.

"Now, always use protection, huh?"

"Get out." Dean answered waspishly, the corner of his mouth betraying his amusement.

Sam looked far too pleased with himself, dropping a few bills on the table and tossing a deliberately long look over at the counter, where Lottie was cleaning the napkin holders and tossing not-so-subtle glances Dean's way. He gave her a wave and she smiled back, lifting her hand a little, shyly. Sam turned his grin back on Dean and bent down, dipping into his brother's jacket pocket for the Impala's keys.

When Dean jerked away and glared at him, Sam only laughed again.

"I'm taking the car. There's a library on the other side of town. That's where I'll be. _Researching._ "

The faint hint of a bitchface was playful and made Dean want to grin in response. Sam was so much better now. Could the douchebag Archangel really be all that bad if him not being dead put Sam back to a semblance of his normal self? Dean gave him a shove, but didn't bother arguing the point about the car.

"Okay, nerd. You go stick your nose in a book, and _I'll_ live a little, huh?"

Sam rolled his eyes and hummed doubtfully, but when he walked off Dean was finding it hard to hide his grin, shaking his head at the building euphoria in his abdomen.

It was fucking ridiculous that his brother ragging on him could make him so goddamn happy. His eyes slid across the half-empty diner to find Lottie, and when she looked up and gave him a bashful smile, sunlight hitting the blue of her eyes and making Dean think of the sky in summer, he felt that deja vu feeling again. Maybe they'd met before, another state, another town, another case.

Despite the heat-blur of attraction, a tiny voice in the very far corner of his mind thought her eyes were _just_ the wrong shade of blue.


	9. Chapter 9

_**(A/N):** Okay, so Dean got away from me here. I guess his love for Cas is too strong for another Sam-centric Chapter right now._

 _Happy Reading!_

* * *

 _Chapter Nine_

Dean loved his little brother. He _did_.

Despite everything, despite _Ruby_ , despite Demons and Hell and bad choices, Dean Winchester loved his little brother with everything he had.

But Sam was driving him friggin' _crazy_.

After his stunt at the diner, Sam had left Dean to it. And by it, of course, Lottie. With wispy ebony curls and eyes the colour of the summer sky, she was… _ethereal_. The Dean of long ago would have said _like an Angel_ , but he knew better about the winged dicks now, and so he didn't make that comparison. But there was something magnetic about her, from the sparkling openness in her eyes to the shy overtone of her smile even when she was flirting.

There was something about her that was soft and sweet and sort of precious, and Dean couldn't help being drawn to her. The Deja vu feeling only heightened the pull, like he'd known her long ago and couldn't quite recall, or they'd passed in the night before.

Either way, the night with her had been something incredibly different for Dean Winchester than the many women before her. There had been a moment, in the throes of attraction, a fleeting, fragile instant, when Dean had been almost sure he knew how he knew her. But it had vanished just as soon as it appeared, ad the part of his Soul it touched upon felt cold and bereft.

He'd liked her, he really, really had. Besides everything else that Dean was, besides every intention or pick-up line or move, there had been something… lovely about it all. But then they were kissing, wrapped in each other like the rest of the world was stilled on hold, and Dean had _felt_ it. That flicker, that touch upon the one thing at his very core nothing could touch.

And the one and _only_ thing Dean had known for sure was that it wasn't her.

And he didn't know her.

And he couldn't continue what their kissing had started.

He'd felt wretched, explaining, failing, unable to vocalise a certainty he knew at his very inner depths. Her azure eyes had been tearful and embarrassed and he'd done everything he could to try and show her that it wasn't her, because this time it truly _wasn't_ , it was _him_.

And Dean wasn't even certain that the _him_ was himself.

He hadn't meant to say so out loud, but it had been the truth, and she had heard it. And she had looked at him with such an understanding that for a moment he wished it _was_ her.

Somehow, they parted friends and Dean promised to make it up to her before he and Sam left town, somehow. He'd prove that he was truly sorry. Lottie smiled and kissed his cheek and smelt of lavender and mint, and she told him that she hoped he found it.

Dean refused to believe that she'd said _find him_.

And it wasn't really Sam's fault, was it?

And yet it _was_ , because he'd been the one to say to Lottie, been the one to point it out. Until he'd said, Dean hadn't even seen her truly. And then she'd looked at him with startled, curious blue eyes and there had been something, - _Deja vu_ \- there.

Dean knew, somehow he knew, that Sam had seen it all and done it anyway. And done what exactly? Without Dean's own understanding he couldn't piece together his brother's crime this time.

But he was gonna drive Dean _crazy_ if he didn't stop zoning out!

"Sam! Cummon man! Would you quit it with the Zombie look? It's getting old."

Sam only turned and blinked at him, his face losing its plain peacefulness as he came back into the moment, his brow furrowing and his eyes darting until the pieces fit together.

"Sorry." he said.

And he didn't sound sorry. Dean only turned his back and rolled his shoulders as he growled out a breathed huff of frustration. He was at the end of his tether.

"So what we got?" he tried again, staring hard at Sam as though it could stop him switching off and flying to Jupiter or wherever.

Sam sighed, dropping further into his armchair with a defeated look. Dean watched him stare at his own shoes, those eyes brooding and heavy.

"It's nothing any of the books I've found can mention." Sam groaned, tugging at his tie like Dean had already, loosening it but leaving it hanging where Dean would have thrown it away, "Nothing that I can find takes the heart and the blood and cuts off the head."

Dean winced.

"So we're thinking hunter." he voiced it, and Sam only looked at him with tired eyes.

"Looks like it. Bobby said it sounded like it, but I wanted to be sure. Or sure- _er_."

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. He freaking hated hunters. Not all of 'em, and not in the blanket sense. But whenever they ran into another hunter, shit always got bad fast. Dean was tired of thinking big picture, of Michael and the Apocalypse, but suddenly little picture was awful too. He dropped his head onto his arms and gave a rather childish whine.

"I hate hunters."

Sam's answer was a weak, faintly amused smile.

Three hours later, checking out the most recent crime scene at dusk, Sam and Dean finally had a stroke of luck.

They stumbled across the hunter they were… well, hunting.

Literally. Stumbled right over him, where he lay in the mud.

His chest was torn up and the mud was darkened red in the dying natural light.

Ganking the werewolf was easy, and by Midnight the brothers were packed and parcelled in the Impala, her engine purring comfortably as they hit the highway. Dean drove, and Sam said nothing but it didn't need said anyway.

They both knew where they were going, didn't they? Like there would have been any damn question about it, even if one of them had wanted there to be. Maybe it was Dean's imagination, but the more miles the Impala ate, the lighter he seemed to feel. Imperceptible to start, and then gradual.

By four they felt refreshed, even if they really, _really_ weren't.

Sam fell asleep against the window and Dean drove all night, but it wasn't like it was the first time.


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter Ten_

When they finally hit a new town, Sam's shoulders were burning from his slouch in the front seat. Dean had offered to let him sleep, stopping for him to get in the back, but Sam had wanted to stay in the front with him. Dean had raised an eyebrow when Sam shrugged it off, but thankfully didn't question him.

His shoulders, on the other hand, were barking at him for being an idiot.

He stretched out of the car, taking his time to go from his toes right up his spine to reach his arms high above his head. His muscles ached and complained but when he dropped his arms at last a lazy sort of warmth swept him, bringing with it some relief. He sighed, and Dean snorted at him.

"You shoulda taken a turn in the back." the older brother taunted gently, looking around the motel car park.

Sam rolled his eyes and ignored him, choosing instead to rest against the hood of the Impala and give him a playful, shooing look. Dean scowled, but strode off to Reception to get their room, leaving Sam to sit in the dawning light and watch the lavender and maple glitter on the black roves of the individual little cabins. A shade nicer than their usual haunts, the rooms had their own tiny kitchenettes, something Sam rather yearned for, sometimes.

He'd be able to eat actual produce if they had somewhere chilled to keep it, and motel minibars were _not_ the answer. And cereal. There was something about being able to pour _cold_ milk onto cereal right when he woke that Sam had always envied of normal people living in houses. Somehow the long life stuff just wasn't the same, and who the hell orders cereal at a diner?

The heat of the new sun crept down from his ears and hugged his neck before Dean came out again, and Sam was rather enjoying seeing the morning didn't often stop and enjoy things like that, what with the world ending, and all.

"One on the end." Dean told him when he reached earshot, waving the key jovially in his hand, "Nice and peaceful, apparently." He shot Sam a tired, knowing sort of smile and Sam just _knew_ what was coming, "Seems people in town don't wanna stay that close to the edge of the woods."

The arch of Dean's eyebrow clued him in further and Sam groaned.

"You're kidding me." he complained, checking the car was locked as he walked past the doors to follow Dean, "How do we manage to do this? We picked the damn town at random."

Dean shrugged, looking over his shoulder as they reached the last cabin. Sam hung his head and shifted the duffels in his grip, passing Dean's his as they made their way inside. The plan was ditch and diner, then catch some sleep, and neither were ready for a new hunt right then. But if hunting only happened when hunters were truly prepared, wouldn't the world be boring? Sam snorted at the thought.

And then he pushed open the bathroom door and saw the bath sitting proudly in the corner in place of a shower, and a small, secret part of him was thrilled. The rest of him was annoyed, because a shower was so much faster and more efficient.

"Uhh, yo. Have you seen this?" he poked his head back out into the main space, jerking his head for his brother to come over.

Dean's expression was amusing, a disgusted sort of disappointment as he leaned against the doorframe and groaned.

"Aw, _come_ on!"

Sam shot him a weak smile.

"At least it'll be… relaxing?"

Dean shot his a disbelieving look as they made their way back through to head out for food.

"You're such a girl."

Sam swatted the back of Dean's head in response and they locked the door behind them. There was a diner down the street, and one down the street from that, so they wouldn't be short on options. Seating themselves in the first and looking down the menu, Sam was pretty sure they'd just be eating here.

"Can I getcha anything, Tall Dark and Handome?"

Sam glanced up, only to realise the waitress was talking to him. sweet and kind-looking, she was looking at him expectantly, the early morning sunshine feeding a deep goldenness to her hair. He gave her a friendly smile, glancing down at the menu again.

"Uhh, yeah, Hi. I'll take the breakfast; scrambled eggs and a side of toast, please?"

When he looked up again she smiled back at him.

"Sure thing hun, and for your friend?"

Dean gave her a winning smile, his gaze landing on Sam and brightening when Sam shook his head imperceptibly. Oh, payback could be sweet. Sam's brow twitched. Dean chuckled.

"I'll have the bacon and eggs, side of sausage, and two coffees please."

The girl gave him a chuckle as she took their menus back.

"Like your meat, huh?"

Dean shrugged pleasantly, and she left with a giggle.

"Coffee'll be right up."

When she was out of earshot, Sam shook his head and gave Dean a stern look.

"Nuh uh. I know what you're thinking, and you can go ahead and stop thinking it right now." he hissed.

Dean laughed.

"What? She's blonde. You like 'em blonde, right Sammy?"

Sam winced and glanced out of the window.

"Shut up."

"Aw come on, you know I didn't- Sam, I'm- I didn't mean to bring up... Jess."

Sam rolled his eyes and tried to scowl at his brother's uncomfortable expression, but he didn't really have the energy.

"It's fine, it's fine."

Dean smirk snuck back onto this mouth and Sam sighed.

"But ya do have a thing for the blondes, right? I mean they _do_ have more fun." his brother shrugged, chuckling when Sam did scowl that time, "All golden and _fun_ , don'tcha think Sam?"

Sam leaned back in his chair as the waitress brought their coffees offer, giving her a friendly smile and hoping she hadn't heard. When she was safely at the counter again he shot Dean a warning look.

"Don't you dare. I'm sorry about Lottie, okay? I thought you liked her. But dude-" he gestured subtly towards the waitress, "I'm not into her."

Dean raised disbelieving eyebrows and Sam sighed again, losing the will to argue because he was so tired. He rested his arms on the table and gave his brother a level look. Dean caved pretty quick, leaning away and making it look like it was some huge deal for him.

" _Fine_. God, what kind of dude are you?"

Sam smiled in response, and when their food came they ate in a comfortable silence, tipped the waitress well and pretended they didn't notice the batted-eye looks she was giving them when they left.

An afternoon crashed in the cabin did them good, and despite all his brother's taunting, Sam enjoyed a long, hot soak in a bathtub surprisingly accommodating to his height. By the time he was dressed and towelling his hair dry, Dean was asleep where he sat on the sofa, the TV buzzing away with some commercial for pizza and making Sam's insides knot a little. He caught himself staring at the little screen without really paying attention, reaching over the back of the furniture to take hold of the remote.

He was about to wake Dean and get him into bed when the screen clicked to the next thing and stopped Sam short.

There it was, that commercial again. Or a new one, maybe. Sam hadn't really been paying attention last time, too caught by surprise at the sight of a familiar Angel. This time was only marginally different, and Sam was soon caught up once more in watching the man move across the screen, in hearing his voice. It didn't matter what was being said, and Sam wasn't focusing on words right then anyway.

But his movements were unique and familiar, the way he shifted his shoulder, the slight tilt of his head to the side as he shot the camera a convincing smile. He'd always struck Sam as a showman, proven by his dramatics and the theatricality of everything he'd put them through, right down to the Casa Erotica video he'd used to tell them of his own death.

Sam's gut squeezed at the memory.

But seeing him walking across the screen, sitting at a bar as he spoke, his hair curling under the edges of the Pepsi cap, gave Sam a secure feeling. It felt gentle and reassuring, and gripped him tightly as he watched despite the lance of disappointment that he hadn't bothered to inform them.

A pit stop with them wouldn't have cost him anything, Sam thought, a cold descending on him as the commercial ended and flicked back to whatever programme had been on. Sam pushed the little off button on the remote and watched the screen die. Quiet filled the room and he sighed, tossing the remote back on the sofa and rousing Dean.

As he lay in his bed and watched sleepily as the morning brightened behind the curtains, casting their room in a honeyed sort of darkness, Sam couldn't stop himself from feeling that little bit disappointed that Gabriel hadn't checked in with them, or even let them know he was alive. In fact, it seemed cruel to give them that death tape when he was so clearly around and kicking.

And there was no way who they were seeing was a freed vessel instead, because the way he'd spoken, the movements he'd made, were all _Gabriel_.

And then Sam tried to stop thinking about it as he fell asleep, because vessels made him uncomfortable at the best of times, Castiel's slightly more comfortable knowing that when he'd been exploded by Chuck's Archangel, Jimmy at least had gone on to eternal peace in Heaven.

The thought plagued him, though. What of the man inside of Gabriel? What about him, any family he had or friends, or commitments?

Sam's sleep was restless and troubled for a long few hours, only easing when the faint playing of a song began in the back of his head. With them, the lyrics brought relief and Sam could sleep soundly, then.


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter Eleven_

The Winchesters received another, intensely-appreciated dose of luck that evening, when they reluctantly roused themselves and forced themselves - each still half asleep - to go through the routine of waking and dressing dressing. Dean elected to put of washing till they got back. Sam suspected his brother was just trying too hard to show he disliked the idea of a bathtub.

He'd bet the gas money to Gabriel's agent's town that Dean would soak long and happily when he thought Sam was asleep tonight.

Their luck arrived when they were seated once more in the diner, Sam's relief at the fact the waitress from that morning wasn't working right then making Dean chuckle under his breath.

Sam ordered pasta and Dean chatted to the new waitress about local beliefs and the woods while she cleaned tables, leaving Sam to watch the town thrum with life from the window. He was lost again in his own head, vaguely aware that he was yet unable to really do anything about it but allow it. Most of all, it was the inevitable that plagued him, questions he was unable to find suitable answers to.

How had Gabriel done it?

They knew Lucifer lived.

They couldn't know the details of what had truly gone down that night, what words had been exchanged, if any. Whether there had been an argument, whether Gabriel had tried to convince Lucifer to stop. Whether Lucifer had tried to tempt Gabriel to his corner or whether Gabriel had fallen for such a thing. They couldn't know whether there had been a struggle, a physical fight of any kind. Whether it had been a long battle of wills or wit or whether Lucifer had used some unknown means to escape.

Lucifer had left that Hotel alive. Castiel could confirm it, all of Heaven desperate for their brother to be put back in his cage, regardless of whether they were fractured in their dispute on _methods_. Castiel wouldn't turn them over to Zachariah, that much they were absolutely certain.

If Sam was honest, the trench-coated Angel was slowly coming round to the Free Will thing. Some days more than others, but it was a process. Sam could understand that choices were hard for him. Not to the same, deep extent of course, but he could relate, in whatever small way, the feeling of compulsion to follow given orders. The expectations, the _duty_ of doing so.

True, disobeying John Winchester wasn't quite on par with defying _Heaven_ , but still. Sam actively did his best not to push at the issue, knowing that even if he'd never understand, Castiel was truly doing something huge for them. Something so off script that he was stumbling blindly. Defying Chuck's predictions had been a massive clue.

If you were moving in the opposite direction of the Lord's Prophet, the literal Word received from God above, could you really be blamed for being a little uncertain or afraid?

It made Sam like Castiel more, even if the Angel could be infuriatingly rigid sometimes. And even if he did prefer Dean and still thought Sam was an abomination.

Lately though, Sam was beginning to get the feeling that Castiel was changing his mind on that point. He seemed rather firmly in their corner.

 _Think what two Angels in your corner could signify._

And that was the almost all-consuming thought, now wasn't it?

Sam couldn't fight the will of his mind to keep looping back in that infuriating dance, circling back again and again. Betrayal and blind hope was an intoxicating combination, Sam had discovered. Sprinkled with an ache that was so different from the one he'd had when he'd thought Gabriel dead, and yet was so similar. The bite was there, but it was as though the teeth were aligned differently.

Why hadn't Gabriel told them he was alive?

Sure, he didn't answer to them, and so maybe they'd never really been friends, but did that really make it okay for him to let them mourn him when he wasn't dead? His aims and intentions had always been lessons, teaching people lessons, giving them their _Just Desserts_. What lesson were they to learn from this?

That he didn't care enough to tell them he wasn't dead, after he'd given them specifically a message to be watched if he died? That they couldn't count on him as an ally? That what, he didn't really care about them at all and all his changes of heart in the end were just further tricks?

Somehow, even seeing it before them, Sam couldn't convince himself that that were true. He'd seen Gabriel facing off against his brother. Sure, the Archangel was a Trickster by nature but Sam didn't think he'd been tricking them then. He was certain, somehow, inside, that Gabriel had been the truest version of himself in that moment that he could ever be.

He'd seen Gabriel's face when he'd thrown Lucifer from him. He'd saved Sam's life, and Sam had seen it on his face, seen the dark light in his eyes that hadn't been there before. Gabriel had been with them, truly with them, in that moment.

That hadn't been a trick, Sam was sure of it.

And he'd ushered them out, commanded they take care of Kali. He'd told them to go, he'd put himself between them and his brother.

And his eyes had met Sam's in that last moment, looking back for one small staccato heartbeat. Sam would never be convinced that what he'd seen there hadn't been real. He _couldn't_. Gabriel's eyes, so fluid and expressive, their depths changing and brightening in all the ways they'd seen him be, had glowed with that righteous golden light of justice, and yet still had been afraid.

When Gabriel had glanced at Sam, some deep, hidden part of the hunter had _known_.

Known everything and nothing in that moment but those eyes. His heart had stumbled, his feet almost too, with the sheer expanse of knowing that had flared in that deep part of himself. So deep within him it almost didn't exist.

Gabriel had been ready to die for them, for goodness, for _humanity_.

And part of Sam had wanted to stop him.

There was no way Sam could ever be convinced that Lucifer had offered something and Gabriel had taken it, no matter whether the suspicion had arisen in Dean's mind once since seeing him on that glass screen. He didn't know how he knew, knew things of Gabriel's character he had no right to know. Maybe it was all just a wishful belief that there would be an explanation, any explanation, of how Gabriel had faced his older brother across that room and still survived.

Or why he was now starring in soda commercials, as though he wasn't wanted by both sides of the war just the same as Sam or Dean or Castiel.

"… gets like this sometimes. Yo, Sam? Hellooooo?"

Sam blinked, his surroundings changing from vivid red memories of that expansive drawing room as he blinked himself back into… oh. A diner. Shocker.

"Hm?"

Dean was sitting across from him and giving him that look again, the patented Dean look that was all concern glazed with irritation to cover it up. Sam shook himself a little, gathering the facts as they came to him. There was a plate in front of him and a waitress standing beside their table and his brother looking at him like he wasn't sure whether to knock him in the head or send him for some sleep.

"I'm sorry, come again?" he asked, glancing between Dean and the waitress.

She gave him a sweet smile, her face warming a little as she tucked a stray lock behind one ear.

"I was just wondering if you needed anything for your fusilli. I could getcha parmesan or pepper?"

Sam blinked at her, pushing a soft smile onto his face and giving his head a brief shake.

"No thank you, sorry."

She smiled and nodded, dipping a little at the knee as she glanced between them.

"Well, you enjoy that now. Give me a holler if ya find you need somethin'."

When she was gone and Sam was brushing his fork through his food, wondering whether he was even hungry, Dean gave him the low-down while only sounding slightly reluctant. On account of the fact that what he and the waitress had chatted about was most definitely good news for them.

Sam forced himself to focus around the low, constant will to return to thoughts of the Archangel variety.

"Turns out that until a few days ago, men from the town were going missing in the woods. One every three days like clockwork." he informed Sam, streaking a fry through barbecue sauce as he did, chewing with the expression that told Sam the food was up to scratch, "Hiker, couple of dads prone to taking short-cuts home with the kids, a teacher, the kid from the gas-n-sip. Just _poof_ , vanished, last seen heading into or near the woods."

Sam raised an eyebrow, intrigued, and Dean took a bite of his burger before setting it back on his plate and wiping his hands as he chewed, reaching to wash it down with his beer.

"And then, it just stops. Around the same time, she remembers a dude who passed through who seemed real interested on hearing about the disappearances, says he's heard about it and wondered if it was true."

Sam pulled an intrigued face and waited till Dean was finished his next bite before asking.

"So you're thinking someone came though and dealt with it?"

Dean gave a slow nod of his head, almost moaning at the burger because it was so _freaking_ good.

"Looks that way."

Sam nodded, looking back down at his untouched plate with a foreboding knowing in his gut.

"We have to go and see him." he said, and the air over their table was heavy with silence while Dean ate.

Sam didn't look back up, and he sure wasn't feeling like eating. Eventually Dean lifted his beer again, the bottle scraping ridiculously loudly considering the diner was busy. It probably just sounded loud to Sam. He'd been a bit off lately, he knew. Sometimes he got like this when he wasn't sleeping right.

"Yeah, I know." Dean said eventually, as Sam's mind was beginning to stir and wander once more, "I know."

Sam could feel himself smile, just a little.


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter Twelve_

They went back to the cabin after dinner, Dean dropping instantly onto the sofa and flicking on the TV. Sam caught himself staying, staring at the flickering screen with a feeling in his stomach very much like he was _waiting_.

He forced himself to turn away and head over to his bed, grabbing what little he'd unpacked and settling into the familiar methodical process of packing it all away again, rolling an escaping one tie securely to be tucked into a deep corner of the duffel, too precious a part of their cover to go missing. He separated the stuff that needed washed, throwing it all into a carrier bag from one of the pockets.

When he was done he scoured the room and collected his brother's stuff too, wincing at the smell of a particular pair of socks he caught huddled under Dean's bed. He'd comment on it, make his disgust clear, if it wasn't for the fact that Dean had dozed off again in front of the TV.

Sam looked at him, feeling guilty because Dean's over-exhaustion was probably his fault. Dean had been taking the brunt of their driving these past weeks, well over a month now of pushing themselves to the breaking point in search for any Apocalypse-halting miracle they could find. They were two rings down for the Horsemen, leaving only Pestilence and Death to go - and didn't they sound like they'd just cheerfully hand their Magic over without a fuss? - to open whatever gate Gabriel had told them they could.

A tremor fluttered through Sam's stomach and snapped him back to the task of collecting laundry.

 _Gabriel_.

Somehow the sonofabitch was alive. It was a faintly comforting sort of thought, soothing the sharp edges of the ache in Sam, so he let it gingerly wind through him. He left Dean to nap and left the motel for the laundrette on the corner, fighting down the fearful hope that paying Gabriel a visit would somehow pay off.

They'd faced enough crap lately, wasn't it time they got some good luck?

Maybe they'd arrive and Gabriel would have a reason for avoiding them, maybe a new form of his _personal Witness Protection programme_. Maybe there was a link to TV or actors or Pepsi or something, and he was trying to show them.

If Sam had learned one thing about the Trickster-come-Archangel, it was that you never could predict what he would do. His death tape was a shining example of that, however much the thought of it made Sam uncomfortable. And not because of the video itself, though that was sort of disturbing, but more because of the fact it existed in the first place. Gabriel had made it in advance. He'd known he was likely to die when he'd returned to side with them.

Either that or he'd known he'd escape and wanted them to believe he was dead.

But if that was the case, why would he then step up into the commercial world, knowing there was a chance they could see him?

And, more worryingly, why would he do that if he knew either side of the war raging in Heaven and on Earth might see him?

Sam had to admit that the thought of the God Squad watching crap-hours TV was slim, but still. It was a big risk.

Despite it all, that made Sam smile just a little. If there was something Gabriel seemed drawn to, it was risk and drama and flair. Being caught because he was making a name for himself on the idiot box would be sort of poet, for him.

Sam took his time at the laundrette, avoiding the vaguely flirtatious glances from middle-aged women sitting by themselves, and politely declining the offer of gum from a kindly but senile-looking old lady. He flicked through out of date magazines left behind by customers before him and let his absent gaze trace advertisements and fliers, old and new, that were pinned to the boards.

Psychiatrists boasting low rates, dentists boasting free retainers, movers who promised no damages. A babysitter who thought her Guitar-playing qualified as a special skill. People trying to sell motorbikes, clearly broken-down cars, old kid's toys. A yellow flier for puppies was new and colourful amongst a handful of older fliers with curling edges, the photograph in the centre surprisingly clear and the dogs clearly caught in a playful mood. Almost half the little tear-off strips were missing.

Sam wasn't sure why it caught his eye, whether the colour or the content. He remembered what felt like an old dream, the longing he used to have for a dog. He'd had one too, for a while as a kid, when he'd run away from Dean and their father.

Whatever happened to the Sam Winchester who still had life-dreams like that?

When their clothes were finally dry he folded them on rote, wandering back to the motel as his brain wandered again.

He wondered what they'd find when they went looking for Gabriel. He wondered how the Archangel would receive them, something he was sure he shouldn't care about but did anyway. After all, they'd left him behind to face Lucifer, and however many times Sam told himself that Gabriel had told them to go, the guilt of doing so remained.

He'd gotten away somehow. But would they have bested Lucifer for good if they'd stayed to fight with him?

Dean was already in bed when Sam pushed open their motel-room door, the curtains drawn tight over the windows to shut out as much of the late afternoon light as they could. Sam packed the rest of their stuff, knowing he'd be unable to sleep if he didn't, even if it was stupid. He seperated their clean clothes and zipped Dean's away, sure to check his brother's ties were accounted for. Just because he hadn't worn one in this town didn't mean squat. Dean had a terrible habit of ditching the things regardless of whether they were around his neck or in his duffel.

When that was done he shed his clothes and climbed into bed, plugging in his phone so that he could be sure to have it charged as they drove the next day.

That night Sam struggled to sleep for over an hour, feeling something ridiculously similar to some teen anticipation. It was like looking forward to and dreading a first day in a new school, or a hunt when he was still technically in training. It was how he felt the night before he was due to find out if he'd gotten into Stanford.

He tried to convince himself that it was just the relief of heading off on a non-hunt-related road trip in the morning.

Dean woke him bright an early, singing in that off-key way of his as he brushed his teeth. Sam lay back on the mattress for a moment and listened to it, thinking off a future where that wouldn't be a sound he heard in the morning.

They had to find Pestilence and Death, they had to get Gabriel and they had to make sure what they understood of his info was right. They needed to find a way to kick Lucifer back into his cage, and do so without losing anymore people. They'd lost enough.

When Dean took the wheel again, despite Sam's obviously better-rested appearance, Sam took the opportunity to watch the scenery go past outside the window, wondering what they were going to find when they reached Gabriel's new city and wondering whether he could truly justify the faint excitement that was building slowly but steadily in his blood.

 _Gabriel_. The freakin' Archangel.

Sam could have laughed at the knowledge that they were actively seeking the Trickster out after so long trying to avoid him.


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter Thirteen_

The agent lived in a modest apartment building just outside the heart of the city, something that had Sam's neck prickling with unease. It wasn't often that the brothers found themselves so close to the heart of such a big city, not that they avoided them on purpose. But most monster hunts they caught wind of were in smaller towns, the outskirts of cities, the country. Sam wasn't much for the bustle of a living breathing city centre, and he could tell by looking that Dean wasn't all that comfortable there either.

But hey, it's not like the life of a hunter was supposed to be relaxing, now was it?

The building was in a quieter street, built in a greyish sort of stone. The foyer was neat and smelt of lavender and lemon and pine, like cleaners had been through recently. Sam and Dean stood in the elevator with a well-dressed older woman, who shot them vaguely curious glances for the three-floor ascension.

Suzanne answered the door before the buzzer had even stopped chiming a faintly melodic sound through the apartment.

She was a slender, summery-looking blonde with a natural sort of frizz in her hair, and the bridge of her nose was speckled with faint freckles. Instead of the pantsuit Sam had been unconsciously expecting, she wore nice-looking jeans and a long-sleeved white cotton top, with the high straps and low curve of a blue vest top underneath. She even had sneakers on, a pale blue pair of Converse. She gave them a friendly smile as she looked between them.

"How may I help you?"

Her voice made Sam smile. Gabriel had picked a rather lovely agent.

"Uh, hi." he greeted, feeling Dean's eye-roll on the back of his head, "We're old friends of a client of yours, and we were hoping you could give us his new address."

The warmth that had shone in her doe-like brown eyes waned a little, a guarded sort of shadow crossing her face. Sam kept his own smile in place.

"I'm sorry, but that's private information, I'm afraid."

"It's Samuel? Samuel Chester." Sam rushed, feeling absurd at the weird play on his own name, "We knew him years ago and we fell out of touch. My brother and I were hoping to visit him."

Dean gave the woman a warm, almost lazy sort of smile that Sam had seen work on much less friendly women.

"Catch up on old times." His voice was engaging and reassuring, "We see his brother every now and then, but Sam himself's been off becoming a star for too long."

Sam covered his uncomfortable shrug as a weird, stretching roll of his shoulders. Dean saying his name like he was some weird stranger was odd, to say the least. Suzanne's expression became puzzled.

"Samuel never mentioned a brother."

"They grew apart a while back." Sam answered easily, thinking of Castiel and briefly imagining he and Gabriel interacting in Heaven for millennia. It was an amusing image, to say the least. "We lost touch, and when we saw him in that Pepsi ad it just seemed like a bit of a sign."

Sam could see Dean's mouth quirk a little at one side. Suzanne looked between them, seeming to assess them before her face cleared and she bit her lip thoughtfully.

"I'm afraid I still can't give you his address. That's information that isn't mine to share." she said slowly, before her eyes met Sam's and she gave a small, relenting smile, "But I could give you the address of the studio he's shooting at today."

She tapped her fingertips against the doorframe, her mouth lifting in something akin to teasing.

"If you're interested."

Sam gave her a genuine, no-holds bar grin at the thought.

"That'd be great."

Sam had been told before that his true smiles were disarming, and it seemed the case in that moment. Suzanne turned a little pink and gave an aborted sort of chuckle.

"Wait here." she said, before turning and disappearing into her apartment.

Through the door, the Winchesters could see the side of a plush mulberry sofa, the corner of a colourful rug lying atop the wood-panelled floor. Dean gave Sam a raised eyebrow and Sam grinned back.

 _They were in business._

Suzanne came back a moment later, looking thoughtfully down at a little white square of paper in her hand before coming to a decision and handing it over to Sam.

"He should be there right through till after dinner unless they send him home early."

She paused, tucking one hand unconsciously into her pocket while the other reached for the door again before she looked at them both with studious, owlish eyes.

"You're not… You won't cause him trouble, will you?" she asked, sounding a little unsure of herself for the first time, "Only he's a really lovely guy, and I'd hate to find out I'd given you anything he didn't want me to."

Sam softened his grin, sure to meet her eyes when he answered her, Dean nodding firmly at his side.

"We're his friends. We just haven't seen him in a while."

Her continence relaxed again, and her beaming smile was back in play.

"Okay then. You tell him I said hey."

"Thanks." Sam said, and he could hear the raw honesty in his own voice.

Suzanne only smiled, raising the fingers of her hand in goodbye as she curled them around the door and pushed it closed.

Sam followed silently behind Dean as his brother led the way to the elevator, staring at the neat handwriting on the piece of paper and looking forwards, anticipation sharp and awake in his gut. It was just over an hour away, everything becoming incredibly real in that moment. They were really doing this, really going to find him.

How would Gabriel receive them?

The doors dinged as they closed and the elevator began to descend.

Would he be as pleased to see them as Sam hoped? As pleased as Sam himself was feeling, knowing they were going to see him again?

He had to shake himself, feeling the anticipation and vague excitement taking proper root. He was far too involved here, more invested than he knew he really should be. Sure, Gabriel had died for them, for their side, for humanity. But he was an Archangel, and they hadn't exactly been best friends.

 _Still_ , Sam thought as he sank back into the leather of the Impala and Dean started that familiar purring engine, _he was one of them, wasn't he?_


	14. Chapter 14

_~.~_

"I'm here, aren't I? But I still think you're romanticising."

Sam shot his brother an exasperated glance, wondering for the millionth time in his life how his brother was still alive, when he could be so _narrow-minded_.

"There must have been time when the Angels got along, though. All that time before Lucifer fell. You don't think about that? They're _brothers_."

"They're _Angels_. There's a difference."

"Dean-"

" _Satan_ , Sam, remember? _The devil_."

"He was still his brother. Who knows what he went through. How the other Angels felt. The people close to him. We've never stopped to think."

Dean snorted, his expression telling Sam exactly what he thought of Angels being close to each other at all.

"He wore you to the Prom, incase you forgot."

"Go to Hell." Sam snarled, "Like I could forget that."

"Then I don't get it, Sam, why you wanna rush off and trust this guy after everything he did, and how hard he fought Lucifer's corner?"

"It was his kid brother, Dean!" Sam finally snapped, turning the full force of his glare on him, "Imagine how you'd feel if it was me."

Dean looked back at him with darkened and dangerous eyes, taken to the edge by their fights like they both always were. Sam could see that old dormant darkness in those green eyes. He hated it, just like he'd hated it in their father.

"I don't have to imagine." Dean said lowly, quiet, and Sam felt it coming before it hit him, "I've already watched you go Dark Side."

The door didn't slam loud enough behind Sam as he left.

 _~.~_


	15. Chapter 15

_Chapter Fifteen_

The studio building wasn't what either of them were secretly expecting. It was a dull grey-brick shell that looked much like an office block. Rather than being flanked by men in dark jackets emblazoned with SECURITY, the outer door was unmanned. There was a modest reception desk in the foyer, where a stressed-looking teenager sat at a computer with a headset on, his forehead in one hand as he spoke in an apologetic tone to whoever was on the phone.

He looked up when the door closed behind them, and his eyes betrayed disappointment before he managed to hide it with a pleasant _please-bear-with-me-a-moment_ smile. Dean huffed, but Sam shot the kid a reassuring smile. They waited while he finished his call, trying not to listen in as they scanned poster covered walls and studied autographed head-shots of people who looked vaguely familiar. The carpet was old and worn but obviously cared for, and although the chunky reception booth was out-dated it was polished, under all the kid's papers and such.

"Hiya. I'm sorry, today's auditions have been moved up to next Tuesday? Can I get you guys an appointment reminder?"

Sam shook his head and shot the kid a sympathetic glance. He sounded over-worked and under-rested.

"We're not here to audition. We're here to see Samuel Chester." Dean answered, and despite the patience Sam had watched thinning all day he sounded genuinely sympathetic.

"Oh." the kid replied, blinking as he caught up with his surprise, "In that case give me _just_ a sec-" he pressed the button on his headset and paused, jumping slightly as a voice must have started speaking. "Y-yeah, hey, it's Craig. I have uhm, people to see Chester?"

He glanced at the Winchesters, cringing a little.

"Uh, no, I forgot to- okay-" he covered the mouthpiece and shot them a weak smile, "names?"

Sam opened his mouth, but Dean was quicker.

"Old friends, Dean and Sam. Hunting buddies."

Craig gave a sharp nod and relayed it into the mouthpiece, listening aptly to the reply. After a moment he clicked the button again and turned to look at the brothers as he pushed a blue button on a pad by his hand.

"Hiya. Sorry about that. He's just gone on set right now, but Lil can take you through and set ya up in the mess room, and hopefully he won't be too long."

He gave them the same polite smile again, and handed them off to a petite brunette wearing an identical headset, who led them through to another neat-but-worn area, from which they could see a whole lot of nothing, and the corridor to the dressing rooms. She offered them refreshments, pointed them towards the toilets, and left. Sam was surprised to be left unattended, having expected there to be an escort or someone to make sure they didn't go sneaking off or raiding the dressing rooms.

Then again, for minor commercial actors, maybe they didn't bother.

"Well this day just keeps getting longer." Dean mused after a long quiet.

Sam shot him a glance, knowing without asking that the unamused expression his brother was wearing was a direct result of being in a big city, getting stuck in traffic and of course awaiting meeting a potential Archangel. Not to mention said Archangel had not only died for their side, but also killed him a thousand times over.

It was sure to be an _interesting_ reunion, at any rate.

"I thought you wanted to come." he answered mildly, eying a poster of what looked to be like a commercial parody of Jaws, complete with shark and… tampons, of course.

Original.

"I _agreed_ to come." Dean corrected him with a groan, dropping his head dramatically over the back of his armchair and glaring at the ceiling, "And only because of you and your stupid attachment-"

"It's not an attachment." Sam interrupted, giving Dean a frown even though his brother clearly wasn't looking, "I just think that if he's on our side then-"

"If." Dean pointed out. " _If_ he's on our side. We have no idea what happened when we left. For all we know he might've taken Lucifer up on some Devil's deal and now we've walked right up to him."

Sam rolled his eyes, but inside he had to try pretty hard to crush the doubt his brother had seeded.


End file.
